


Torment

by Flywolf33



Series: Recompense [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema and Newt die before the start of the story mostly, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a mess, Aziraphale says mean things, Beating, Burning, Crowley also says mean things, Crowley is a mess, Crowley is forced to watch Aziraphale hurt him, Crowley is terrified of Aziraphale, Fighting, Forced to watch your own torture, Grief, Hell is seriously awful, Hurt/Comfort, I'll tag more as I think of them, I've apparently forgotten how to tag, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Instability, Mention of Anathema, Mention of Newt, Mention of major character death, Mentions of Sex, OCs are kids of canon chars, PTSD, Relapses, Slow Burn, Spanish Tickler, Torture, Trauma, WHUMP!Crowley, Whump, Whump!Aziraphale, Wing Mutilation, cat of nine tails, fifty years in Hell, holy water burns, implied sex, ineffable husbands, it takes a while though, no really, recompense, reference to sex, therapy sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywolf33/pseuds/Flywolf33
Summary: The entire day had felt like a dream; a nightmare that served to fulfill all his fears of Heaven’s treatment of Aziraphale. He’d been trying to get him to see for centuries and even now he wouldn’t understand the truth of it.But that part had ended splendidly, and all was well. Hell hadn’t thrown him – or Aziraphale as him – into the pit and they both escaped relatively unscathed.He supposed later that it must have been the relief, the sudden lack of pressure and the ability to just be that was so abrupt they were dizzy. They’d gotten outrageously drunk and somehow ended up tumbling into bed together. In his euphoria Crowley kissed his angel and his angel kissed him back and the next thing he knew they were naked and the nightmare was gone from his mind-Then morning arrived and reality came crashing down.Events of Recompense from Crowley's point of view
Relationships: Aziraphale & Anathema, Aziraphale & Newton, Aziraphale & Original Characters, Aziraphale/Crowley, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Pepper/Adam Young (Good Omens), anathema/newt
Series: Recompense [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969081
Comments: 38
Kudos: 56





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> So apparently I have no self control at all because I was going to wait to start uploading this until I finished with Bickering on Both Sides, but... Anyway... This is the events of Recompense from Crowley's point of view, so be warned it is... well, it's brutal. Most of the graphic violence will be in chapter two, but I'll make sure to warn in the notes if there's anything crazy in any other chapters. This one only has mild violence. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The entire day had felt like a dream; a nightmare that served to fulfill all his fears of Heaven’s treatment of Aziraphale. He’d been trying to get him to see for centuries and even now he wouldn’t understand the truth of it.

But that part had ended splendidly, and all was well. Hell hadn’t thrown him – or Aziraphale as him – into the pit and they both escaped relatively unscathed.

He supposed later that it must have been the relief, the sudden lack of pressure and the ability to just _be_ that was so abrupt they were dizzy. They’d gotten outrageously drunk and somehow ended up tumbling into bed together. In his euphoria Crowley kissed his angel and his angel kissed him back and the next thing he knew they were naked and the nightmare was gone from his mind-

Then morning arrived and reality came crashing down.

Crowley woke alone on the large bed Aziraphale had made just for them the previous night. He was disappointed, to be sure, but not concerned. His angel – _his_ angel, he could hardly believe it! – had never been one for sleep. He could hear Aziraphale in the kitchen anyway.

Stretching languorously, Crowley rolled out of bed and miracled his clothes on, sunglasses in hand on habit, but he didn’t put them on as he padded to the bookshop’s small kitchen to join his – _his!_ – angel.

“Good morning angel,” he yawned, pausing in the doorway.

Aziraphale tensed. His back was to Crowley so he couldn’t see his face, but given the set of his shoulders it was likely a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Or something else, something that whispered of holy water and harsh words they both regretted.

Crowley quietly put on his sunglasses.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly, without turning around.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said in the same tone.

“We need to talk.”

“Must we?” Crowley held onto the vain hope that maybe Aziraphale wasn’t about to break his heart _again_ , but he could already feel the cracks forming.

Aziraphale’s hands tightened on the edge of the counter before he finally turned around. He wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eye. “Last night… it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let it go so far.”

The familiar hole opened in Crowley’s stomach the same time anger bubbled up. “Yeah? You seemed to enjoy yourself quite a bit.”

Aziraphale glared up at him, finally meeting his eyes. “Crowley…” he warned.

“What is your _deal_ , Aziraphale?” Crowley seethed. “Why do you insist on this dance? Every time I think you _finally_ let go, you come back and do _this!_ ”

Color rose in Aziraphale’s face. “We are an angel and a demon,” he said, volume rising to match Crowley’s. “We shouldn’t even be _talking_ , let alone drinking together, and definitely- definitely _not that_!”

“It doesn’t matter anymore! They’re not keeping score! They _know_ we’re friends-”

“We’re not _friends_!” Aziraphale shouted.

Crowley laughed bitterly. “No, I suppose not. We were lovers.”

Aziraphale blanched. “Do you know how much trouble-”

“Heaven doesn’t _care!_ ” Crowley cried in frustration. “They _never_ cared about you!”

Cold fury filled Aziraphale’s face. “I suppose it’s because I’m a poor excuse for an angel,” he said, “that fraternizes with demons and allows a _snake_ to tempt him.”

“That’s not-”

“No, you’re right. Why should Heaven care? After all, someone was bound to see us talking on the wall of Eden. All of this, everything that’s happened, is _your fault!_ ”

“So what, I’m going to be your scapegoat? You’re just as responsible as I am.”

“Get out!”

“What are you going to do, call up Heaven and beg forgiveness? Sorry to burst your bubble, _angel_ , but Heaven doesn’t forgive! They won’t take you back.” Crowley’s fists clenched.

_Shut up shut up shut up!_

Aziraphale went completely still, face wiping blank and for the first time, Crowley was frightened. “Get out,” he said. “Get out. There’s no need for the Arrangement anymore. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Crowley gaped at him, trying to find biting words and failing. Everything was hazy. How could he survive Armageddon just to end up here? He was sure he could die from the grief, evaporate where he stood in Aziraphale’s kitchen. “Fine,” he finally said, voice rife with fury. “Fine.” He stormed to the front, Aziraphale trailing behind to make sure he left. “Enjoy eternity alone,” Crowley snapped over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.

He fumed the entire way home, hardly noticing the protesting traffic around him. The Bentley shifted from song to song, trying to convince him to turn around. Crowley ignored it.

He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. Of course Aziraphale would be nervous. Crowley had considered himself apart from Hell for a long time, but Aziraphale had stubbornly clung to Heaven as a child to their security blanket. Every time they began to grow close, he pulled away. It was their dance. Crowley was used to it, even if he was growing increasingly frustrated.

Crowley paused, keys in the door. He should go back; apologize. He didn’t fancy the idea of being alone, and knew Aziraphale would struggle with it even more. Even if he’d meant it this time, that he didn’t want to see him, Crowley should make sure the angel knew he could reach out if he ever wanted to. Aziraphale would never do so otherwise.

With a sigh, Crowley returned his keys to his pocket and turned back, anger bleeding away. When the haze faded, he finally noticed the scent of ozone and sulfur. He bolted, but not fast enough. Something cracked across the back of his head and he was only aware of the ground lurching up to meet him.

He knew where he was before he opened his eyes, so he avoided it. The smell of Hellfire cloying in his nostrils, slick stone against his cheek, and screams echoing down the hall were all he needed. He was in the pit, and there would be no escape. Not on his own, anyway.

It seemed ages before a door creaked open and Crowley was finally forced to open his eyes and sit up. Beelzebub and Hastur stood in the door. The Prince of Hell merely regarded him with the bored expression characteristic of them, but Hastur wore a grin that made Crowley’s stomach churn.

“Welcome home,” Beelzebub said.

Crowley swallowed. “Lord Beelzebub, Duke Hastur.”

“Toast,” Hastur said.

Crowley suppressed a shiver. “I don’t suppose there’s any use in-”

“No,” Hastur said, advancing on him, “but I would love it if you did.”

Crowley scrambled to his feet, only to be clapped in irons that suppressed his demonic powers. Hastur yanked him from the room, causing Crowley to stumble but not fall. The pair of demons led Crowley through Hell until they reached a room unfamiliar to him but fit a description he knew.

It was the courtroom Aziraphale had been tried in, in his stead. There was no bathtub; instead a complex rack stood before a large window, through which the hordes of Hell jeered.

Crowley gulped as he was dragged to the rack and secured spread-eagle, facing the window. He saw Beelzebub take their throne in the reflection, Dagon at their side, but Hastur stayed next to Crowley.

“Hordes of Hell,” a squat usher announced, voice resounding through the large room, “I give you the demon Crowley, accused and convicted of capitol offense against the domain. After further deliberation, his death sentence has been reversed-” Hell booed, “-and instead he has been granted the mercy of a life sentence.”

Crowley’s breath came a little faster despite his determination not to give them a good show. Even so, he was a coward at heart; a snake that habitually wormed his way out of trouble, and his body refused to let him forget it now.

A clammy hand pressed between his shoulder blades and his wings burst forth against his will. He jerked and ground his teeth as hook hanging from the ceiling were jabbed through the meat near the joint, suspending them for all of Hell to see.

Crowley shivered as he was suddenly naked. He was completely exposed.

A light flickered to his right and he looked over his shoulder to see Hastur, a sickening grin on his face and a spark of hellfire at the tip of his finger. “Toast,” he said again, and lit first one wing and then the other.

Crowley couldn’t help it; he screamed.


	2. Torment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell is... well, Hell. Even so, Crowley isn't entirely prepared for everything they have planned for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! There are graphic depictions of violence in this chapter.

By the time Crowley was dragged – because he was incapable of carrying his own weight – he was black and blue with scorch marks seared across his back and two long, ragged gashes where his wings _used_ to be. Most of his hair had burned off as well. Blood oozed from places he’d been hit hard enough to break skin.

They dumped Crowley in the corner, where his manacles were attached to the wall. They allowed restricted movement, but Crowley wasn’t sure he had the strength. Everything hurt.

Once the door to his cell closed, Crowley managed to curl into a loose ball on his side. The cool stone was a relief on his burns, but soon the chill seeped into his bones. He shivered; he was a serpent. Cold did not become him. Tears streamed down his face, but he lacked the energy to sob.

Aziraphale would surely save him, right? No matter how angry he was or how badly they fought, he wouldn’t leave Crowley to eternity in Hell’s pits, a plaything of vengeful demons, would he? He wouldn’t let him suffer like this. No matter what he said, they were _friends_. He always came back to him.

Crowley chanted this hope like a mantra. He’d always been there to rescue the angel. The bastille, the church, countless other minute interactions. Aziraphale would be here. He wouldn’t abandon him.

It seemed too soon when Hastur returned, a pair of demons Crowley didn’t recognize on his heels. They grinned down at him. One of the demons, a short woman with greasy hair and gills, held a cat of nine tails whip. The other, tall and thin and far too pale, cradled a wicked-looking tool with three claws. Crowley recognized it from the Spanish Inquisition.

“One from list A, one from list B,” Hastur said. “Repeat until squishy.”

Crowley involuntarily shrank away from them, but they only laughed and hauled him upright, hanging him from a hook in the ceiling.

The beating was savage and long, and Crowley didn’t even bother _trying_ to suppress the noises he made. Hastur watched with glee as gash after gash, furrow after furrow was opened in Crowley’s flesh and his screaming was punctuated by the crack of the whip. When they finished they merely let him drop to the ground, where he stayed in a crumpled heap, moaning.

_Aziraphale Aziraphale Aziraphale._

The next time the door opened, Crowley didn’t look up. Whoever it was paused, then crossed the cell and crouched beside him. Crowley was rolled onto his side and amber eyes met blue.

_Aziraphale!_

He choked out the angel’s name and grasped his vest, dragging himself up to bury his face in his friend’s chest. Every move was agony, but he was just so _relieved_ to see his angel. “You came,” he sobbed. “I knew you’d come.”

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a flat tone. “Whatever have you gotten yourself into?”

Crowley looked up into his face, confused. The angel’s expression was blank and passionless. “Aziraphale…?”

The angel caressed Crowley’s bruised cheek, then abruptly seized him by the throat and flung him against the wall. Crowley cried out and his vision flashed black for a moment. He slumped, body throbbing and gasping.

“Angel-”

Aziraphale slapped him. “How _dare_ you touch me, sully me with your filthy hands.”

“W-what?”

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” the angel said, slapping him again, hard enough to bounce his head off the wall.

“S-sssorry…”

“Demons _don’t_ love,” Aziraphale snarled. “I’m going to make you suffer for getting me cast out of Heaven for a lie.”

Crowley couldn’t… this couldn’t be real; it had to be some kind of trick. He closed his eyes, unwilling to face this reality. _They won’t make me hate you._

 _“Look at me!”_ Aziraphale thundered and pain tore through Crowley. His eyes snapped open to find the angel brandishing a bloody knife, with which he’d slashed open Crowley’s stomach. The wound was deep, but not deep enough to kill him. “You’ll be punished for that.”

Aziraphale reached into his pocket and removed a glass vial filled with clear liquid.

_No._

He unstopped it.

_No!_

Eyes burning with fury, Aziraphale tipped the vial just enough for a few drops to fall on Crowley’s chest. He _wailed_ , writing back into the rock as his flesh sizzled and melted. Pain exploded through his body as his wing-stumps ground into stone and his very essence melted away.

Crowley’s breath came in ragged, gasping sobs, body trembling from the force of the anguish.

“Every tie you look away, I will baptize you,” Aziraphale promised. “I want you to see me while I hurt you.”

 _Holy water_.

All of Hell thought he was immune thanks to Aziraphale’s performance.

Aziraphale. He was the only one could possibly know that it would still hurt him, kill him.

Hell could not create holy water; only an angel could have brought it here.

 _Aziraphale_.

With that realization, Crowley’s entire being shattered into grief and betrayal and he broke down sobbing, pleading for Aziraphale to tell him _why_. In doing so he made the mistake of removing his eyes from Aziraphale’s face, and more water rained upon him.

Crowley went white with agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments give me life. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	3. Transfer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change and when Crowley wakes up he finds himself out of Hell, but could it be too good to be true?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor descriptions of violence in the first couple of paragraphs; they're more of a montage style so it's pretty much limited to a sentence or two. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments! They're the best part of my day, really. I appreciate y'all!
> 
> Edit: Okay, apparently the entire chapter didn't post the first time, so it should be fixed now!

They cycle continued, time blurring together in a meaningless blob of pain and betrayal. Crowley would be taken to the trial room and put on display, where demons would take turns torturing him for everyone’s entertainment. Bones were broken, flesh was burned, tissue was torn and healed and torn again. Always they were careful not to discorporate him – but just barely.

Sometimes he would have visitors in his cell. Aziraphale frequently came to see him. Crowley quickly mastered keeping his eyes open and focused through the agony of what the angel would do to him; as an angel he proved far more creative than any of the demons.

As a snake he’d never found much use for eyelids, and now he was grateful for the skill.

It was the _only_ thing he was grateful for.

Days became weeks; weeks became years; years grew into decades, and Crowley long ago accepted that this was his eternity. He feared the sound of footsteps, of voices. The dripping of water made his heart stutter. The crack of a whip, the jungle of chains, the creak of a door – all brought blind panic. That’s all he was now; panic and pain.

Most terrifying of all was Aziraphale’s gray-blue eyes boring into him as he melted away bits of what Crowley was.

Crowley wished, _prayed_ , for death. The burn of prayer was almost a relief in comparison to his existence.

A commotion kicked up one day, dragging Crowley from the throbbing stupor he spent his rest time in. Hundreds of voices echoed down the hall, growing closer with each racing heartbeat.

The door swung open to reveal Aziraphale’s silhouette, flaming sword in hand. Demons crowded into the room behind him.

Crowley shrank back with a whimper as Aziraphale knelt, reaching for him. The look on the angel’s face was one he hadn’t seen before, which only terrified the demon more. He lifted Crowley, who resisted despite himself; Aziraphale had never taken him anywhere, and if his worst tormentor was moving him, horrible things – more horrible than he faced now – were on their way.

The pain and fear overwhelmed him, and Crowley was swept into oblivion.

It was the most restful sleep Crowley had had in as long as he could remember, and he was loath to wake up. Every time he floated close to the surface, terror overtook him, and he retreated into darkness. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable and likely making things worse for himself, but he would take this reprieve for as long as he could.

There finally came a point when Crowley could delay no longer, and he reluctantly came back to himself. He was surprised to find that his body didn’t hurt quite as much as it had before, and he was lying –

He was lying on something soft. He drudged around in his hazy memory for the word.

_A bed._

Crowley slowly opened his eyes and found himself in a room. Not a cell, a _room_.

Aziraphale was beside him.

Crowley moved so fast he was barely aware of scrambling against the wall, curling in on himself as much as he could. His limbs responded much better than they had the last time he moved, but any curiosity he had was eclipsed by terror.

Aziraphale tried to sooth him even as he reached out, telling him he was safe and yet sitting _right there_. Crowley’s breath came in short gasps.

“I have water here for you.”

Crowley whimpered and flinched even further into the wall, widening his eyes as much as he could to try to prove that he hadn’t looked away, that he didn’t need to baptize him again, that it wasn’t necessary…

“Do you know who I am?”

The fear pulsing through him was so potent now that Crowley was sure his teeth would vibrate out of his head. “P-please,” he whispered. “Don’t hurt me again. I won’t look away, I _won’t_ , I promise!” he begged. It had never gotten him anywhere before, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

The angel continued trying to placate him, telling him he was out of Hell and safe. Crowley began to realize he might be able to escape, if he had indeed been taken from Hell. He slowly turned his head and glanced at the open door, then flinched back and chanted apologies against the incoming punishment.

“Papa Fell.”

Aziraphale turned to the door, and Crowley used his moment of distraction to glance at the newcomers. It was a woman and a man, both of whom stirred a faint recognition in the back of Crowley’s fogged mind. Aziraphale left at their bidding and the woman took his place. She had dark skin and hair and her eyes were kind. She moved as if Crowley were an injured animal that might flee at any moment, and he supposed he was.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” she said gently as she sat. “You don’t know me, but you met my mother, Anathema Device. She stopped Armageddon with you; do you remember?”

Crowley struggled to think. He didn’t think this Nora was going to hurt him, but he didn’t want to risk angering her by not answering. “Book girl,” he finally recalled.

Nora smiled warmly. “That’s right. I’m her daughter, Nora, and my brother Jeremy is just outside. He’ll come in a minute, if that’s okay?”

Crowley’s breathing was starting to slow and he relaxed slightly, nodding. “Where… am I?” he asked faintly, only tensing slightly as the man, Jeremy, returned and stood just behind his sister.

“The South Downs,” Nora said, “in Aziraphale’s cottage. He rescued you.”

At the angel’s name Crowley’s heart picked up again.

 _He has me he has me he has me_.

“Please,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t let _him_ hurt me anymore. I can’t… I’ll do anything, please…” his voice broke.

Pity radiated from the pair. “Oh Crowley,” Anathema said, “we aren’t going to hurt you. We’re here to help.”

Crowley swallowed dryly and glanced at the glass of water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a drink. “Can…” he started, then shuddered.

“Of course.”

Nora offered him the glass, which Crowley accepted with shaking hands. He hesitated. If it was holy water…

Well at least it would kill him, and he’d be free.

He took a hesitant sip, then guzzled it down when it didn’t burn. He licked his lips and looked down at his body, which he just now noticed was covered in bandages. His limbs weren’t crooked with years of unset and incorrectly healed bones. He took a deep shaky breath, hope beginning to kindle in his chest. Maybe…

“I’m no… you’re not going to hurt me?”

Nora gently shook her head. “I’m no doctor, but my mum taught me a bit about medicinal witchcraft.”

“Where is she?”

The siblings shared a pained look. “Mum and dad died several years ago.”

Crowley blinked, concentrating as hard as he could on time. “How long was I…”

Nora spoke softly. “Fifty years.”

Crowley’s hands balled into fists around the blanket. Fifty years. Half a century he’d been down there. _Half a century_. The time seemed so long, yet so unbearably short.

_Fifty years._

He sagged. This all seemed to good to be true, and the last time something was too good to be true… He looked back up at the siblings, were seemed to be waiting on him. “You’re not going to hurt me?”

Nora’s eyes glistened. “No.”

Crowley swallowed and glanced to the door again. “You won’t let _him_ hurt me?”

“No,” Nora said thickly. “Nobody will hurt you ever again.”

“Can… can you… can you keep him away?”

“Is that what you want?”

Crowley slowly nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll keep him away.”

He finally let the relief flood through him.

_I’m out I’m out I’m out._

“Can I sleep?” he asked, dizzy with the release of tension.

Nora nodded. “We’ll leave you be. I’ll come back in the morning. Is that okay?”

“Okay.”

They quietly left, gently closing the door behind them. Once their footsteps faded, Crowley gingerly slid off the bed and tested his weight. His legs were shaking, but so long as he leaned on the wall he could walk. He marveled at the feeling; he hadn’t walked in fifty years. He ached, but it felt good.

Crowley slowly made his way to the door. He hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob, then turned it. To his surprise, it opened. He wasn’t locked in.

The murmur of voices wafted up the stairs, but Crowley couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Exhaustion crashed over him and his legs gave out. He whimpered as he hit the ground but compared to how much pain he’d spent the last half-century in, it was a minor hurt. He crawled back to the bed and dragged himself under the covers.

Someone came up the stairs but whoever it was didn’t turn down his hallway and another door in the house closed. Crowley suddenly regretted opening his door; it could have protected him from Aziraphale. Lacking the energy to get back up and close it, Crowley allowed himself to drift into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments give me life. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	4. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley faces his biggest fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I decided to upload a day early because why not. 
> 
> Thanks for your lovely comments; they're the best part of my day! 
> 
> This chapter is calmer and involves a little more progress. I'd say we're through the worst of it, but... I would be lying.

Upon waking and discovering he was, in fact, still in a house and not in Hell, Crowley resolved never to sleep again. Nightmares had plagued him all night, throwing him back in his cell with Hastur laughing as Aziraphale dribbled holy water onto his skin.

Crowley wept.

_Fifty years._

What had he ever done to make Aziraphale so angry with him that he’d spend fifty years…

Nora was true to her word, returning with breakfast and a large bottle of water, as well as fresh bandages. She allowed Crowley to eat before gingerly unwrapping wound after wound. Crowley tried not to look – he knew what was there – and patiently sat through her attentions.

She helped him stand and assisted him in a painfully slow walk around the room. He was still weak, but he didn’t collapse this time.

Nora sat with him most of the afternoon. At some point just after lunch, a man and young girl appeared in the doorway. Crowley stiffened and looked to Nora.

“This is my husband, Eric, and my daughter Annie,” she told him. “I wanted them to meet you; they’re going to be here a lot.”

Crowley nodded. He trusted Nora and he’d always like kids, didn’t he?

They talked for a while, telling him about the time he’d missed on earth. Crowley himself said very little, preferring to listen. They never said Aziraphale’s name directly, but it became clear quite quickly that he’d been a fixture in their lives and they loved him. They were in a round about way trying to convince him that Aziraphale _hadn’t_ been in Hell at all.

_But I saw him with my own eyes._

It became routine that one of the Device-Pulsifers would spend the day with him. Sometimes Jeremy would come visit with his son, Bran, and his husband, who Crowley discovered was the antichrist’s child.

It was a strange thought.

Adam himself came once, greeting Crowley warmly and inquiring about his health. He apologized exactly once for not being able to help him more. Crowley had hissed at him until he stopped trying. It wasn’t his fault. Not really.

School started again and Annie only came in the evenings, usually with an armload of homework. Crowley helped the best he could, given his fifty-year gap, and when she was assigned an astronomy project Crowley eagerly promised to help.

His strength grew, though he couldn’t yet reach enough miracle power to do much more than turn the light on and off or close the door. He spent his nights reading or pacing circles to help speed his healing. He didn’t dare venture into the rest of the house, no matter how bored he got; he could hear Aziraphale moving around during the day, and even though the house was silent at night he knew the angel was lurking _somewhere_.

Nora had been telling Crowley about Aziraphale in small pieces, getting more direct with each conversation. He no longer winced when he heard the name, and he began to wonder if his time in Hell really _had_ been a trick after all, and if the demons had taken a gamble and won.

He wasn’t entirely convinced.

Crowley was feeling bold one evening and crept from his room. He could hear voices in the kitchen, so he stealthily slipped down the stairs and stood in the hallway just outside the door. It was Aziraphale speaking, rambling on about Crowley’s plants. Aziraphale’s voice sent a thrill of fear down Crowley’s spine and he clenched his fists, heart hammering. He took deep, controlled breaths like Nora advised.

“Oh Papa,” Nora sighed, “you really are in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Hopelessly.”

They began moving around a moment later and Crowley pressed himself against the wall to avoid being seen. He heard Nora say Annie would be over in an hour, bid Aziraphale goodnight, and leave. The kitchen faucet turned on.

After a moment of deliberation, Crowley steeled himself and edged into the kitchen. The floor creaked and he froze as Aziraphale’s head snapped around to face him. They held eye contact for a moment, Crowley’s body screaming for him to run, before something flickered over the angel’s face and he very calmly went back to washing dishes.

The tension eased in Crowley’s shoulders and he leaned against the wall with folded arms. He silently declined the offered tea but stopped Aziraphale when he made to leave through the far door. “Wait.”

Aziraphale stopped but didn’t face him, something that bolstered Crowley’s confidence. He took a few hesitant steps toward the angel and stopped.

“You…”

Aziraphale slowly turned around. Crowley felt himself begin to shake, pulse thundering so loudly in his ears he almost didn’t hear the angel ask if he was cold. He shook his head without taking his eyes off of him, afraid to speak again.

“You don’t have to look at me, if you don’t want to.”

Crowley’s eyes widened a moment before he dropped his gaze. He flinched, still expecting some sort of punishment for falling for this trap. None came.

He swallowed. “Can we sit?”

Aziraphale moved to the table and with some trepidation Crowley joined him. He took a moment to organize his thoughts and allow his heartrate to slow. “You were in Hell,” he said tentatively.

“Twice,” Aziraphale answered without hesitation. “Once as-”

“Me,” Crowley finished for him, recalling the ruse that had worked for Aziraphale but not for him.

“Once as you,” the angel agreed, “and the other was just recently, when I got you out.”

So he hadn’t been there, hurting him and burning him away. Or so he said.

Crowley stared at his hands as he mulled over his next thought, not sure if he wanted to know. It had been half a century; did it really matter?

Yes, it did. He needed to know if it was real.

“We slept together.”

Color tinged the angel’s cheeks as surprise flickered over his face. “Yes, once.”

So that meant… “Do you remember the fight?”

“I remember all our fights,” Aziraphale said, voice thick with emotion, “and I regret every single one of them.”

Anger kindled in Crowley’s chest. If he regretted all their fights and always had, as he said, then why did they keep happening? Why did he always provoke him? “You said it was a mistake,” he accused. “You said you didn’t want me around.”

“I was lying,” Aziraphale said with a wince.

“Why?”

Aziraphale explained, and though Crowley was frustrated with the angel’s tendency to cling to what Heaven and Hell would think, he simply filed everything away for later analysis.

_Fifty years._

“You didn’t look for me.”

Aziraphale immediately protested, capturing his gaze and freezing him in place, then looked contrite when Crowley flinched. “I did, but not as soon as I should have.”

Crowley closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm himself again. He didn’t realize he’d clenched his fists until they relaxed and his palms tingled where his nails had bitten into them. He allowed Aziraphale to explain what he meant, watching him carefully. The angel was speaking more into his tea than to him now, mumbling. He apologized, but Crowley felt no stirring of forgiveness. Still, he wanted his once-friend to ask for it, to be able to tell him there was nothing he could do to make up for all the suffering he’d endured.

Aziraphale finally looked up. “What?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for you to ask my forgiveness.”

The angel paled and he violently shook his head. “I would never ask for that.”

 _What?_ Was he truly sorry then? “Why?”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness. You were in Hell, and I was sleeping. It’s unforgiveable.”

Perhaps this was a trick, or maybe Aziraphale truly did have some understanding of the enormity of his sins. He still wasn’t ready to forgive him and doubted he ever would be, but something inside him softened. But only a little.

His hands suddenly felt very empty and his throat dry, so Crowley retrieved a glass of water and returned to the table, staring at the cup grasped tightly between his hands. He glanced up. “But you looked later.”

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley hesitated. Would his story match those that the Device-Pulsifers had told him? “Tell me.”

Aziraphale did, sometimes speaking into his tea and sometimes looking up with a smile at fond memories of the children. Crowley watched him as he spoke, though now it was more out of curiosity than obligation. Time slipped away and Annie arrived, standing quietly in the door behind Aziraphale for a few moments before pointing to the sitting room and disappearing.

The longer Aziraphale talked, the angrier Crowley grew. It bubbled up inside him, burning away his fear. The knowledge that Aziraphale had saved the Bentley offered a small reprieve, but it couldn’t pay for all his other transgressions.

Once the angel finally finished, Crowley rolled the water glass in his hands and thought. “When Anathema and Newt died… where were you?”

Aziraphale stuttered for an answer, but Crowley didn’t let him finish.

“You weren’t there. Your friends needed you and you weren’t there. Just like you weren’t there for me,” he bit out, admittedly enjoying the shame, guilt, and grief that battled for dominance on the angel’s face as he reared as if struck. Tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to find words.

_Good, suffer._

“Are you ever where you’re supposed to be?”

Annie appeared in the door then, hands on her hips as she defiantly defended her godfather and scolded Crowley. His confidence fled and he shrank back in his chair, chastised.

Aziraphale bid them a goodnight and left them alone in the kitchen. Annie spread her school papers on the table and began talking about her assignment as if nothing happened, even though _everything_ had happened. Crowley tried to focus through the churning in his mind, rolling over each word spoken and every sliver of body language Aziraphale had had. The angel had always been incredibly easy to read; some things never changed.

Annie packed up sometime around midnight and headed home, leaving Crowley alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments give me life. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	5. Turnback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is never just an uphill battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! New chapter full of fun and lovely things! Yay!
> 
> For everybody who gave me a prompt to work on last week during the shift from hell, I will get those posted! I ended up sleeping most of the weekend and now I'm trying to get caught back up on school so I haven't had a ton of time to type; the only reason I can get this uploaded on time is because I finished a couple weeks ago. But your fics are coming, I promise! It might just take a bit. Thank you for being patient! 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy the chapter ;)
> 
> ALSO: This chapter has graphic descriptions of the result of violence

Crowley’s fear of Aziraphale was mostly gone, replaced by anger and resentment, and he now felt safe to wander the house. He suspected Aziraphale was avoiding him, but he was okay with that. Just because he wasn’t afraid of him anymore didn’t mean he wanted to see him.

He spent most of his time looking through Aziraphale’s library and aimlessly searching the kitchen. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for and so his actions became repetitive. Something was missing; he just couldn’t place it. There was a garden, at least, and that distracted him from his search. He came in from terrorizing the plants one evening to find a new skylight in his room and he felt a flash of something old in his chest. He quelled it but spent the rest of the night watching the stars instead of reading.

It took a few days, but Crowley finally worked up the will to ask Aziraphale for something he’d wanted since their kitchen conversation. He could feel the angel in his study, where he usually spent the mornings with his door closed.

He hesitated outside, then knocked. There was a tiny, _tiny_ part of him that still quivered at the idea of facing Aziraphale, but the rest of him quelled the thought.

“Come in,” the angel’s muffled voice called, and Crowley slowly opened the door. He didn’t step inside. Aziraphale seemed surprised to see him, but Crowley was resolutely looking at his feet. “What can I do for you?” he said thickly.

“I would like the keys to my Bentley.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I haven’t seen it in half a century,” Crowley shrugged. “I’d like to take it for a drive.”

“It’s not safe.”

The anger rose again and Crowley finally looked up with a fierce glare. “Am I trapped here? Am I not allowed to leave?” _How is this any different than Hell if I’ve still lost my freedom?_

“Of course you can leave,” the angel said quickly. “It’s just not a good idea. Hell’s angry I took you and I don’t know if they’re waiting for one of us to leave or if they’ve given up. And with your powers…”

Crowley stopped listening at _‘Hell’s angry’_. Fear pulsed through him and he looked away, gritting his teeth. “I get it,” he ground out. He spent several moments thinking. He wanted to go for a drive; the cottage was becoming stifling. He needed fresh air. He also didn’t want to risk returning to Hell. He’d sooner throw himself in a font of holy water than do that.

There was nothing for it, no matter how much Crowley didn’t want to ask. “You could come with me.”

“…Do you want me to?”

“Not really,” Crowley said, noticing the angel’s wince with a small spark of satisfaction, “but it seems like the best option.”

Aziraphale agreed to accompany him and Crowley went to wait by the front door as he grabbed his jacket. The keys were warm in Crowley’s hand, and sliding behind the wheel of the Bentley was like coming home. The car welcomed him warmly with a burst of lively music. He allowed himself a small smile; it hadn’t changed. She’d missed him.

Crowley ignored the being in the passenger seat as he drove, wanting to enjoy his time with his car and not dwell on recent events. He was crazy to think he wouldn’t be able to keep his mind off his pondering for long, but for now he was content to drive the one thing he’d ever loved almost as much as the angel.

 _Love_.

That was a new word, foreign in his mind after so many years.

 _Love_.

He mulled it over, thinking back to that familiar stirring he’d felt upon his discovery of the skylight in his room. This thought only brought a swell of confusion with it and Crowley did not have the energy to sort it out. Right now, he wanted to be angry. He _deserved_ to be angry. It was his _right_.

Eventually he pulled off to an overlook and turned off the car, staring out over the ocean. It was beautiful as ever, but he could hardly focus on it now. The tension radiating from Aziraphale was almost palpable, despite his obvious attempts at making himself invisible.

Crowley couldn’t stand it.

“Thank you,” he said, surprising even himself.

“For what?”

“For keeping the Bentley.” He paused. “And the skylight.”

“You’re welcome,” Aziraphale lamely, cutting off whatever he was going to say next.

“And…” tension rose in Crowley then, causing him to tense before he was able to force himself to relax and let his hands drop off the wheel. “And for coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. Even from the corner of his eye Crowley could tell the angel was considering him and internally debating something. “I…” he swallowed. “I know it’s probably not what you need to hear right now, but… I. Um.”

Crowley turned to look at him now, face calm and blank. What could the angel possibly have to say that would still make him nervous?

“I do love you,” he finally said, and Crowley felt his eyes narrow ever so slightly as Aziraphale forged on. “I do. I’ve done an awful job of showing it and I understand… I understand that you hate me now and that’s okay.”

 _Hate?_ Crowley blinked. _Do I hate you?_

The confusion churned ever harder.

Aziraphale continued without giving him the chance to speak, though Crowley didn’t know what he would say even if he’d had the chance. “If you want to leave, really leave and never come back, then…” Tears were welling in Aziraphale’s eyes and color flushed his face.

 _Good. Suffer._ But the voice was quiet.

“I won’t hold it against you. I won’t seek you out, so long as I can feel that you’re here, on earth. I just ask that you wait to go until you’re fully recovered, so you’re safe. After that, you never have to see me again.”

Aziraphale looked away again, throat working, but Crowley could still see the raw grief on his face in the reflection of the window.

The confusion boiled, throwing everything Crowley had been clinging to this last week into the air and drowning it. Old emotions, things he’d started feeling millennia ago, stirred inside him. _He loves me_ , he thought, and he knew that hearing those words fifty years ago would have made his world. He’d been trying to get the angel to admit it for centuries. But now…

He wanted to be angry. Crowley clung to that anger. He wanted to hate the angel for everything that had happened to him, wanted to blame Aziraphale for every hurt, both physical and emotional. It all came down to him, after all. If he hadn’t given his flaming sword away, if Crowley hadn’t fallen in love with him, if he hadn’t spent six thousand years pining after something too good for him, then none of this would have happened.

When he finally spoke, he did so slowly, still trying to sort through the turmoil. “I know I loved you, once… from the moment you said you gave away your sword… then that fight, and Hell…” he paused, brow scrunching. “I don’t know anymore.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, but his hurt was evident in the way he held his body and refused to look at him. At least he didn’t fight, didn’t plead, although Crowley almost wished he would. He’d certainly made a fool of himself blindly chasing after the angel’s affection plenty of times.

Once the sun had set, Crowley restarted the Bentley and began driving home.

In contrast to the earlier drive, the car was now mournful, strains of _Love of my Life_ filling the car. Crowley clenched the steering wheel, trying not to focus on the lyrics as Aziraphale glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

 _You’re not helping_ , he thought at the car. _I can’t think._

They returned home to a panicked Nora, demanding to know where they’d been. Aziraphale apologized.

 _A fucking note!_ He seethed, barely containing a scornful comment. _Is that all you know how to do?_

Aziraphale deflected the girl’s probing and vanished.

She rounded on Crowley. “What did you say to him?”

Crowley shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets before following her into the house and to Aziraphale’s locked door. No sound came from within to answer Nora’s pleading, and she eventually gave up and returned home.

Crowley stood still in the hallway until he heard movement from the other side of the door.

He hadn’t really used a lot of miracles during his recovery and he wasn’t sure this was going to work, but he found himself standing inside the angel’s bedroom. He only felt a little drained; he was getting better.

Aziraphale was curled up in bed, back to him, sobbing. Crowley watched him thoughtfully, feeling almost detached. The confusion still roiled inside him, but it was locked in a glass case now. He’d never seen Aziraphale lose himself to grief in this way; not even when the Library of Alexandria burned. All this… was for him? This pain, this weeping was for Crowley? Or was it for his own guilty conscience?

Crowley silently teleported back to his room and collapsed on his bed, hands behind his head. Two miracles of that magnitude had exhausted him, but he refused to fall asleep and instead watched the stars and mulled over the day’s revelations. He was beginning to come to terms with the idea that the angel really _hadn’t_ been in Hell with him, and he was more inclined to believe Nora when she said Aziraphale was falling apart.

 _Good_ , the voice whispered, but it was barely audible.

Crowley found himself watching the angel more frequently, though he still seemed to be playing hide and seek. Crowley wouldn’t say he was _seeking him out_ , per se, but if he heard Aziraphale in a room he would slip in and see what he was doing. He’d considered leaving him be, but Annie had shipped off for America and they were alone most of the day. Crowley had decided he didn’t like being alone very much.

It seemed Aziraphale had learned to cook over the years – Crowley recalled how the angel had once managed to somehow burn _water_ – and he wondered if he was any good. He watched in fascination as Aziraphale mixed batter and pulled a pile of fruit towards him.

_Crepes. Of course._

The silver glinted in the light, blinding him, and fear immediately followed by rage surged through him. He was distantly aware of making a noise somewhere between a whimper and a growl and he saw red.

He was first aware of something warm and sticky on his hands. Whatever it was caused his skin to tingle uncomfortably. The sensation dotted his face and neck and bled through his clothes. When his vision began to clear, it took a moment for Crowley to orient himself. He was on the opposite side of the room from where he’d been moments ago, straddling Aziraphale among the remains of the shattered table. There was a large hole in the wall just above Aziraphale’s head.

The warm substance prickling at his skin was blood. It was splattered _everywhere_ , up the walls, across the cabinets, pooling on the floor… and all down Crowley’s front. His shirt and pants were soaked with it, weighed down and plastered against his skin. The cloying smell clogged his nose and choked him when he opened his mouth.

He surveyed the scene with growing horror. Aziraphale’s head was leaned back against the wall, exposing a long but shallow cut down the center of his throat and a blooming bruise in the shape of a hand. A knife was lodged in his left shoulder and the angel’s hands weakly clenched around a deep gash that stretched from mid-sternum to just below his belly button that splayed him open. Several layers of tissue and some muscle were clearly visible, but there appeared to be no intestines peeking out.

Aziraphale’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to keep them open. His breath came in tiny, desperate gasps.

Crowley looked down at his hands, slick with burning blood – _Angel’s blood_ – and scrambled backwards, feeling ill.

_No no no no no! Angel!_

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale wheezed, drawing Crowley’s attention back to him.

He panicked. “What do I do?” He was shaking violently, but for once out of a different kind of fear. He cast about for some way to help Aziraphale, make him focus so he could heal himself. He dashed through the house, aware but uncaring that he was leaving bloody footprints in his wake.

_He can’t die he can’t die I’ve killed him he can’t die-_

He finally found what he was looking for – _the phone!_ – and dove for it, nearly dropping it with how slick his hands were. He shakily dialed Nora and before she could say anything he was shouting as he raced back into the kitchen. “Nora! I need your help, I don’t know what happened; I did…” he struggled to think, but all he remembered was a glint of silver, and…

It didn’t matter right now. “I don’t remember! You need to come over; I think he’s dying!”

Aziraphale remained calm, though his words slurred when he tried to speak and it seemed to be growing harder for him to keep his eyes open.

Nora was over in a flash, pale and trembling. She paused only briefly in the door upon seeing the carnage, but quickly threw herself to the angel’s side. “Papa Fell!” she cried, “Papa Fell! Look at me Papa, stay awake! Papa!”

Aziraphale’s head dropped to the side as he went completely limp.

“No, Papa Fell, come _on!_ ” Nora screamed. “Get me a first aid kit!” she snapped at Crowley, trying to cover the deep gash with her hands.

Crowley miracled one into his hands and silently offered it to her, hands still shaking.

“Hold the edges of the wound together while I bandage it,” she commanded, ripping the kit open and digging through it, still moaning Aziraphale’s name and begging him to wake up as she hastily plastered his stomach with gauze and medical tape. She removed the knife from his shoulder and immediately covered the hole with even more gauze and tape.

“Help me get him upstairs,” she said, taking the angel’s feet.

Crowley tucked his arms under Aziraphale’s armpits and led the way, backing up the stairs as fast as he dared.

“What happened?” Nora demanded as they laid Aziraphale on his bed and Nora began a more detailed examination of the damage.

“I don’t remember,” Crowley mumbled, watching and wishing he could do something more. “One minute we were just standing there and the next I was on top of him…”

The witch glanced up at him, face terrifyingly blank. “Go wash up,” she finally said, voice flat.

“Do you need-”

“Go!”

Crowley went like a kicked dog. _I didn’t mean to,_ he thought as he scrubbed at his hands until they hurt. He wiped his face the best he could and returned to Aziraphale’s room. He watched Nora labor over him, weeping silently and she stitched him shut the best she could with her limited medical knowledge.

“Get me a bowl of cold water and a rag,” she said without looking up.

Crowley obeyed.

The angel slowly began to wake up as Nora dabbed at his face. He comforted the woman at his side with quiet words and healed the worst of the damage, though Crowley couldn’t see just how much he was able to do since it was hidden below bandages.

He suddenly looked up at Crowley and the demon fidgeted under his gaze, expecting retribution to rain upon him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

_I didn’t mean to._

“My dear boy, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Before Crowley could protest, Nora was doing it for him. Aziraphale defended him with what little energy he must have had. “I suppose it was the knife?”

Crowley realized this bit was for him and he nodded, still staring at his feet.

“But you’ve been in the room while I’ve cooked many times, and I always have a knife of some kind,” Nora hedged, and Crowley’s stomach sank even further with the realization that any safety, any friendship, he might have had from Nora, it was probably gone.

_And I don’t even know what happened._

“ _You_ didn’t torture me in Hell,” he said softly.

“Neither did he!”

Crowley hesitated. He was still trying to settle things, but… “But they made me think he did.”

“It’s okay, Nora. Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and his tone made it clear he wouldn’t continue until Crowley looked up, so he did. “I forgive you.”

The words hit Crowley train. Physical pain pitted in his stomach and bile rose in his throat. _I’m a demon. Unforgivable, that’s what I am_. He looked away again. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so; I just… need some rest.”

Crowley nodded, then glanced up at Nora, who was astutely ignoring him and focusing on helping Aziraphale. The knot in his stomach clenched. _I’m dangerous._ “I’ll just… I’ll go then.” He backed out of the room and found himself back in the kitchen, staring at the hole in the wall and the macabre painting of blood throughout the room.

He threw up.

Crowley stared in surprise at the puddle of sick between his feet. He’d never actually thrown up before, not even in Hell.

_I’m dangerous._

He couldn’t stay. He was putting everyone at risk. He hadn’t known he could lose time like that. Aziraphale would be fine because he was an ethereal being, but what if he relapsed around Annie? Or Nora, or Bran?

He couldn’t risk it.

Crowley fled the house, somehow managing to part Aziraphale’s warding as he tore out the drive and away from the protective shell that he’d started to think of as maybe being a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments give me life. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	6. Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a few things to work out...and faces a few demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not actually Flywolf but she asked me to do it because she forgot to before work. -zeke177

Crowley wasn’t sure where to go, just that he needed to get himself as far away from the Device-Pulsifers as he could. He thought about going to Jeremy, but quickly nixed that idea and spent the next several days mourning the loss of companionship and the fact that he’d come to dwell on it. He’d never really needed constant human companionship in his time on earth; even before he and Aziraphale reached the Arrangement, his relationships were fleeting and consisted of tempting. There were no real bonds forged.

Besides, he had always had Aziraphale.

_“We’re not friends. I don’t ever want to see you again.”_

_Had_ , being the operative word.

So Crowley drove. He drove through London, only paying enough attention to know Aziraphale’s book shop was no longer under his name. He drove through Tadfield but didn’t stop. He crossed into France and drove through Paris, stopping where the bastille once stood and picturing its mass in his mind’s eye. He drove to Italy, stopping in Rome to remember the numerous events attended in the colosseum with Aziraphale.

_Aziraphale._

Crowley moved on. He drove to Turkey, then Israel. He visited Golgotha and remembered watching an innocent man – _the_ innocent man – flogged and nailed to a cross for telling people to be kind to one another. He remembered the heartbreak in Aziraphale-

He drove on.

He tried to stay away, but he found himself growing lonely.

_Aziraphale_.

But the angel was sure to be angry, and Crowley still wasn’t sure exactly where his own feelings for the angel lie.

Crowley went to America to see Annie. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye, after all, and it was only polite, right? Human lives are so short; he really should go see her now.

She was ecstatic to see him, though she didn’t seem to know that he’d struck out on his own. At least that also meant her mother hadn’t told her what he’d done – and if Nora hadn’t said anything, it meant Aziraphale had to be fine.

Crowley took Annie and a few of her friends out stargazing in one of the less light-polluted places in America. They loved it and begged “Uncle Crowley” to come visit again during their finals at the end of the summer. He smiled and made circuitous promises and left. Might as well visit the colonies while he was here.

He headed south into Mexico and eventually ended up somewhere in Argentina. Good. Somewhere he’d never been before. He promptly found a bar, ordered the strongest thing they had, and settled in to getting wasted for the first time in half a century.

Something tingled up the back of Crowley’s neck. He suddenly became acutely aware of his surroundings. Every conversation, every tinkle of glass, every splash of liquor, the buzz of every insect.

A fly lazily drifted through the air and landed on the edge of Crowley’s glass. It regarded him, shuffling its wings a moment, then buzzed away.

Crowley was moving before he had time to finish sobering up, and by the time he was out the door he was so sober he forgot he’d been drunk in the first place. There was a flash of pointed teeth and Crowley took a hard right. He couldn’t get to the car; Dagon was there. Couldn’t hide in the bar, Beelzebub was there. Couldn’t go home, wasn’t safe-

He ran. He ran blindly through the twisting streets of wherever it was he’d ended up.

_Can’t go back can’t go back can’t go back._

His panic rose with each step echoing behind him, each mocking laugh ringing in his ears.

Crowley skidded around a corner and ran face-first into a wall. He bounced backwards, stunned, and by the time he gathered his wits, Dagon was advancing on him. He scrambled to his feet, trying to think through his panic and teleport somewhere- _anywhere._

There was a concussive bang and suddenly Dagon was pinned against the far side of the wall, choking while a flaming sword pressed against her belly.

“I thought we had this settled,” Aziraphale growled.

_Aziraphale_.

“So did I,” Beelzebub drawled from the alley opening, “but then you smote a whole level of demons, and we want our toy back.”

A gargled noise forced its way from Crowley’s throat as he cowered further into the wall.

_I can’t go back don’t make me go back please don’t take me back kill me first please don’t let me-_

There was a tingle of static electricity and the smell of ozone and suddenly there were three angels behind Beelzebub. Gabriel’s voice brought a rise of hatred so raw that Crowley feared he was about to lose time again, and if he were to do so here with _them_ he certainly would not survive the encounter.

Beelzebub hissed at the interruption, but Gabriel merely turned back to Aziraphale.

“Everyone leaves Crowley alone. Nobody, demon _or_ angel, is to even _look_ at Crowley, or _think_ about him, or I will kill them,” Aziraphale said firmly, drawing a pained yelp from the demon at the tip of his sword. “ _Permanently.”_

_For me?_

And then they were alone and Aziraphale was standing with his back to him. Crowley stood quietly for a moment, giving his heart a moment to slow down and thinking about what happened.

_How did he know where I was?_

“I thought you said you wouldn’t follow me.”

“And I won’t. But I won’t let Hell take you back, either.”

Crowley swallowed. _Even after what I did?_

“…Thank you.”

He teleported back to his car.

Crowley spent more time thinking and even more time drinking. He watched his back, but true to their word – oddly – no demons or angels showed up to drag him back to torment.

His thoughts slowly turned back to Aziraphale, rolling every conversation they’d ever had over in his mind. He went back to Africa and found the place Eden once stood. He replayed the moment he’d seen Aziraphale for the first time, standing guard watching the desert and occasionally looking back to check on the humans. He’d had his flaming sword then and he carried himself differently. He seemed more sure of himself, yet still soft and kind.

After Eve ate the fruit and gave it to Adam and the Lord came, Crowley hid himself. He was lucky God did not strike him down the moment Her burning gaze landed on him. He wasn’t about to risk anything while She remained, in case She changed her mind.

Now Crowley wondered if this was all part of Her plan; She must have wanted him to meet Aziraphale that day.

He’d been nervous, approaching the Principality on the wall, but was drawn by curiosity. His sword was mysteriously gone, and he seemed rather nervous. When he said he gave the weapon – a holy weapon given to him by _God Herself_ – Crowley was lost. He knew it then. Demons weren’t meant to love but he had never really fit in with that lot; it was just an accident, a whim, that he’d ended up part of their group anyway.

Crowley turned away and drove north.

He slowly made his way across the continent, living each memory of time shared with Aziraphale in vivid detail. Sometimes his memories of Hell and the drip of holy water came to his mind and the scars he bore from it burned, but then the way Aziraphale lit up when Crowley appeared in the Bastille would cover it. The angel’s rage at the thought that Crowley might use holy water to kill himself came next; then the look on Aziraphale’s face, the grief and anxiety when he handed Crowley the thermos to keep him from accidentally hurting himself in a heist.

That angel, _that_ Aziraphale, wouldn’t have used that substance to burn him away, no matter how angry. _That_ angel was his friend, no matter what he said.

Crowley found himself in Rome again, and this time he stopped and ordered oysters. His first date with Aziraphale. These didn’t taste as good as Patroneus’s, but then, Aziraphale had been here to enjoy them with him.

He got crepes in France, then caught a barge to England. Crowley slipped into the Globe late at night and stared up at the stage. He could hear the whispers of Burbage reciting his lines and growing frustrated at the lack of audience, see Aziraphale’s puppy-dog eyes at the mention of a miracle. He hadn’t even questioned Crowley cheating on the toss, and the demon couldn’t refuse the request. It seemed only fair.

_“Oh Papa. You really are in love with him, aren’t you?”_

_“Hopelessly.”_

Something warm curled in Crowley’s chest.

He stopped in St. James Park to feed the ducks. He was beginning to arrive at a conclusion, but he still needed more time.

“ _I love you.”_

Crowley returned to the South Downs. Annie nearly knocked him over rushing out to hug him. She’d grown quite a bit; he hadn’t realized it had been quite so long.

Bran was right behind his cousin, also taller and also ecstatic to see him. His parents greeted him warmly, but Nora was still aloof.

“He’s not here,” she said once the welcoming party disbanded.

“Where is he?”

“Are you going to hurt him again?”

Crowley shook his head.

“If you do, I’ll find a spell to exile you from England permanently. I’ll make sure you never see him again.”

Crowley swallowed nervously; he believed her. “I just want to talk to him.”

Nora stared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. He’s been gone for about three years now. He checks in every so often, but not as often as he promised to. He never says where he is.”

Crowley swallowed and looked away, trying to pin down the connection he’d been able to follow when Aziraphale was in trouble; the same connection the angel no doubt used to make sure Crowley was still on earth. It took a moment, but he found it, flickering in the corner of his mind.

“Will you look after the Bentley?”

Surprised, Nora nodded and took the keys. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, then willed himself in the general direction of Aziraphale’s light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments give me life. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	7. Tibet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry I was a day late! Updating completely slipped my mind until this morning. 
> 
> Things are finally going to get better from here!

Crowley still needed time to think, and since he didn’t know why Aziraphale had abandoned his home and human family he didn’t know if the angel would appreciate him simply showing up in the room this time.

That being said, having to hike up the Himalayas with winter settling in and a blizzard on the horizon tested his patience. He thought about waiting until spring or sending someone up to fetch the angel, but in the end Crowley decided to pick up gear in a small village and begin his trek.

It was slow going and the cold made it even slower; snakes did not do well in the snow. Crowley started to wonder if he’d made a mistake. If he discorporated out here, he’d be straight back in Hell and this time there would be no escape – he doubted they’d give him another body and he wouldn’t have anywhere else to go. His layers barely seemed to shelter him from the cold, and he was growing lethargic and clumsy. He wanted to lay down and take a nap.

Finally, through the blowing snow, Crowley saw a light. The closer he got, the clearer he could see the outline of a tiny cabin. It was really more a shack, with a small outhouse barely visible behind it. The second building gave him pause; Aziraphale wouldn’t need an outhouse. Maybe he got it wrong and this was just an ordinary human?

It didn’t matter. He needed to get out of the weather, _now_ , before he died. He could rectify any misunderstandings later.

Crowley trudged through the knee-deep snow up to the front door. He could see Aziraphale through the window, sitting on a small staring at a stove in the far corner. Crowley hesitated. What if Aziraphale didn’t want to see him? What if the whole reason he left the cottage and came to this forsaken place was to be alone? Maybe this time it had all been too much.

This was Aziraphale. They’d spent centuries apart before, albeit not like this. They’d waited long enough; if Crowley was going to try to make things right, he needed to just do it.

He knocked.

Aziraphale didn’t move.

He knocked again.

The angel stood up and moved towards the door, talking as he came. He froze and fell silent once he saw who was standing on the other side.

Crowley shuffled his feet awkwardly under the angel’s petrified stare and glanced at the worsening storm around him. “May I come in?”

This seemed to kickstart Aziraphale, who jumped to the side and ushered him in before pushing the door closed behind them. He began bumbling about, pointing to the coat hooks and offering tea as he retreated.

Crowley looking around the cabin. It was a little bigger than it had looked from the outside, though he supposed the second window helped. There was a small pile of firewood stacked neatly next to the stove and a table under the front window. A single woven rug covered most of the floor, though damp wood was visible around the edges of the room.

He realized Aziraphale was watching him with an anxious expression.

“Tea sounds nice. Thank you.”

Aziraphale set to work by the kettle while Crowley stood shivering in the middle of the room. At least it was warmer in here than outside.

“I usually just sit on the bed, but I can miracle a chair or something-”

Crowley jumped at the sound of his counterpart’s voice “The bed’s fine, angel,” he said, perching on the edge of the bed and watching Aziraphale finish preparing the tea. He seemed a little distracted; a little nervous. Crowley couldn’t blame him, given what had happened the last time they’d been alone in a room together.

The silence was stifling.

“I went back to your cottage,” he finally said as Aziraphale handed him a steaming mug. Crowley held it close, relishing in the heat seeping through him. “You weren’t there.”

Aziraphale wouldn’t look at him and instead mumbled into his drink about travelling. Crowley’s gut clenched.

Still he tried to remain casual. Things were usually awkward at first after a tiff, and everything was so different now. It wasn’t a usual tiff, and so much had happened between then and now, and Crowley was still so confused… So Crowley mentioned the kids. The kids were a safe topic, right? They both loved the kids.

Aziraphale’s hands tightened on his mug and he didn’t say anything, though the set of his shoulders said he was expecting some kind of hurt.

Crowley let the silence stretch into several minutes, listening to the wind and mulling over his thoughts. He needed to find the right words. All his practiced conversations had flown out the window; he couldn’t seem to pin much of anything down. One thought, however, continued to pop into his mind. Might as well dive right in. “Did you mean what you said?”

He saw Aziraphale look up out of the corner of his eye, but Crowley didn’t move his gaze from the floor.

“Which time?”

Crowley took a deep breath to steady himself. “When you said you loved me.”

There was a sharp inhale beside him; whatever Aziraphale had expected, it probably wasn’t that. When no answer was forthcoming, Crowley risked a glance at the angel, who captured his gaze. “I did, and I do.”

“Say it again?” Crowley asked, heart hammering as he closed his eyes and tried not to picture every time his heart had been shattered to pieces.

The angel spoke without hesitation this time. “I love you. More than anything.”

Crowley felt his bottom lip tremble as a series of nightmares raced unbidden through his mind. “They used your face, in Hell. You- _he-_ ” the distinction was important, “-made me watch him while he hurt me. If I looked away from y- _him_ , if I closed my eyes or looked somewhere else or even simply couldn’t hold my head up anymore, he’d…” The memory was seared into his very essence; he could still feel the burn, throbbing under his skin. Sometimes it was a mere irritation, other times he couldn’t move for the pain of it. But the rush of words seemed to leave him now, so Crowley forced himself to lift his shirt so the angel could see the wounds that would never heal. “Holy water,” he croaked, throat dry as he forced the truth from his lips.

There was a tense silence in which only the wind screamed, but Crowley still couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. When the angel finally _did_ speak, his voice was _wrecked_ and it cut Crowley to the core. “Crowley, I’m- I’m so _sorry_ , I-”

Crowley held up a hand. He’d wanted an apology, wanted to make Aziraphale grovel at his feet, but now… now it was wrong. He finally looked into his old friend’s face and found his eyes filled with tears. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t you.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. He snapped it shut soon after, but there was a gleam in his eye even as he weakly held to his apology. Silence fell again and Aziraphale set his tea aside, untouched. Crowley hadn’t sipped at his either, but he held it none the less. The heat was nice.

Crowley realized Aziraphale was waiting for him, letting Crowley think and move at his own pace. Something warm kindled in his chest.

“Why couldn’t you stay there?” he finally asked, bringing the conversation back to its original topic.

It took a moment for Aziraphale to answer, but when he did everything summed up to: “I _miss_ you.”

That kindle of warmth flared again, and Crowley felt safe broaching the topic that more tore at him: their fight. “You said you lied.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and confirmed, glancing at his tea.

“You said it was one thing too much, us… sleeping together.”

The tears were back as Aziraphale nodded. “I wanted to follow you, beg you to come back, even then, but I thought you’d need time to cool off.”

_He regretted it too. He wanted me back. He wanted me back but he respected my distance. He regretted it too._

But Hastur… Crowley grimaced. “I regretted leaving as soon as I did. I turned around as soon as I reached my flat, but Hastur got me on the way back.”

Aziraphale paled and apologized again. He seemed surprised when he looked up and met Crowley’s gaze, but he continued his apology, this time Crowley let him go. _This_ was the apology he wanted, the admission of his sins. A tiny part of him wriggled with glee as he watched the angel break down, satisfied that at last he _understood_.

“I’m sorry I failed you so badly, when _you_ have always been there for _me,_ ” the angel wailed.

Everything inside Crowley released, like a cord snapping. The anger bled away, taking with it every reservation and every grudge he’d held since coming back from Hell. He reached out and touched Aziraphale’s shoulder, their first real contact in more than half a century. The words stuck in his throat, but Crowley forced them past the lump. “I forgive you,” he said.

Aziraphale blinked, as if his brain could not process what he’d heard.

“I forgive you,” Crowley repeated, this time the words coming easier.

The angel started crying even harder.

Crowley continued while his courage held. “I’m still… working on some things, but I _do_ know three things.”

But Aziraphale’s weeping was too loud, and Crowley wanted – no, _needed_ – to see his face, to look in his eyes. He waited a few minutes before pulling the angel up and grabbing him by the shoulders, so they faced each other fully. He was trying not to tremble.

“One: I don’t want to be alone. Two: Even though I’m still trying to figure out what is real and what was Hell, I want to be with _you_.” He paused. This was the critical moment. “Three: I love you.”

Aziraphale froze again. “…What?”

“I love you,” Crowley said firmly, now absolutely sure of himself. It wasn’t easy, to love when he’d been broken so many times before, but Aziraphale… he was worth it.

_Aziraphale Aziraphale Aziraphale._

“I love you too.”

For the first time since that morning decades ago, Crowley felt a small smile pull at his lips. Warmth pulsed through him; he could probably get drunk on those three little words and never need booze again.

Aziraphale smiled back at him.

“Can we…” Crowley’s voice failed and he tried again. “Can we try to find our way back to each other?”

“Of course we can, my dear.”

_Aziraphale Aziraphale Aziraphale._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments give me life. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


	8. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is finally a future that isn't so dismal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry this is so late. I had the chapter ready, life just... got away from me. Anyway, here it is at last! Thank you for your patience, I hope it's an ending you all like :)

There was a brief discussion about leaving the hut and returning home, but Crowley wasn’t sure he wanted to face the Device-Pulsifers again so soon. He needed time to adjust to company – specifically Aziraphale’s company – so they agreed to wait out the winter.

Sometimes the fear would come again, if Aziraphale moved wrong or said something off, and Crowley would find himself shivering in the corner. When this happened, Aziraphale would, without fail, sit on the bed with his hands in his lap and hold perfectly still until Crowley could creep to his side and talk. Even more concerning was the way sometimes Aziraphale would flinch and shake. There were times when Crowley’s vision would go red and he lost time. When he came back to himself Aziraphale would be tucked behind the bed, shaking. Guilt wracked through Crowley as he was reminded that maybe a false version of Aziraphale had tortured _him,_ but he himself, with his own hands, had nearly killed Aziraphale. The angel had genuine reason to fear him, here and now, as they were. Crowley was terrified that one day he would wake up and find Aziraphale dead at his feet.

Crowley dreaded the snow outside, which served to keep him in even when they had disagreements. He was ashamed to say he started most of these, as Aziraphale was typically very patient, but sometimes Crowley succeeded in riling him up. The topics ranged from tea to Camelot to the incident in the Nineteenth Century ( _“I thought you wanted to kill yourself and I wasn’t going to give you the tool-” “I told you I wanted insurance! I just wanted a means of defending myself-” “But you didn’t explain that! I thought you wanted a way out-”_ ) to their fight just before Armageddon ( _“You said you didn’t like me-” “I loved you, I was just scared, so I lied-” “You do that a lot; that’s very un-angelic-”_ ) to Crowley’s absence.

“A fucking _note?_ ” That was what got him the most. Aziraphale had broken into his apartment and found it untouched, the Bentley abandoned, and hadn’t sensed him on Earth, and he’d decided to leave a note and fuck off to sleep?

“What else would you expect me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe _look for me_?” Crowley couldn’t keep the venom from his voice and Aziraphale flinched.

“I did!”

Anger and betrayal bubbled in Crowley and he advanced, red fogging the edge of his vision. “But not for another _two years_! I was burning in Hell for _two years_ and you were _sleeping_ and all you did was _leave a note_!”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to his hiding place behind the bed as his resolve failed. “I didn’t know that. They agreed to leave us alone.” His voice shook.

Crowley blinked and registered the fear and guilt on Aziraphale’s face. He grimaced and turned away. _Too close._ “You said you didn’t need me.”

“We both said hurtful things.”

Crowley had to agree. He was just as bad as Aziraphale when they traded barbs, and in this fight he’d been feeling particularly broken and therefore had intentionally chosen words that would do the most damage.

“I’m going to bed,” Aziraphale said, warily inching around the demon and collapsing onto the bed. He rolled so he faced the wall, still shaking, and Crowley knew it was because of him; because he almost lost control.

Crowley swallowed and fidgeted for a moment; then did something he hadn’t done yet. He crawled under the covers behind Aziraphale, who jumped. “I thought you didn’t sleep anymore,” the angel murmured.

“I don’t,” Crowley said, pressing close to him and soaking up his warmth. He searched for an answer that wouldn’t be admitting he was merely here for the contact, the reassurance that Aziraphale was here and this was real. “It’s just warmer under here.”

Aziraphale shuddered.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have done that,” Crowley said after a few minutes.

“I’m sorry too.”

As Aziraphale slowly relaxed, Crowley nuzzled closer, burying his face in the back of the angel’s neck. “I don’t want to hurt you again,” he whispered. The angel didn’t answer and Crowley’s heart sank. Still, he was comfortable and Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind his presence on the tiny bed. “You can go to sleep, angel. I’ll be here.”

The angel’s breathing soon regulated as he slipped into sleep. Crowley clung to him, wondering if they were going to be able to get through this. He needed to let go, as the angel had. He needed to forget, to release this tension, or he might never be truly safe to be around. He needed to relax.

He snuggled deeper into the warm bed.

_Aziraphale had him pinned to the wall, carving into his flesh with a heated knife. It wasn’t a flaming sword, but it might as well have been for all the skill the angel had with it. Crowley’s eyes were bleary with pain, and in his fuzzy state his head dipped. He knew his mistake the moment he made it and quickly corrected, but it was too late. His head cracked against stone as Aziraphale slammed him to the ground and straddled him. Crowley began to beg, tears flowing freely down his face and whimpering as the angel pulled out his blessed vial._

_Crowley screamed, thrashing under Aziraphale to get away, anything,_ anything _, to escape the agony that burned down into his very essence, taking pieces of him with it._

Crowley was suddenly awake, jerked from his nightmare by something warm and soft on his mouth that held him frozen in place. His eyes snapped open and he saw Aziraphale over him, _kissing him_. He’d never done that in Hell, and Crowley knew – he _knew_ – that this was them, in their cabin, on their bed, and the angel hadn’t tried shaking him awake, hadn’t been forceful in drawing him out-

Then Aziraphale pulled back and started to apologize, bright red, but this time Crowley didn’t want to hear it. Affection surged through him and he yanked Aziraphale back down to him. The angel squeaked but didn’t resist. He was rather enthusiastic instead.

Crowley’s heart hammered as he finally released Aziraphale, staring up at him. Warmth curled through him.

“I didn’t want to shake you,” Aziraphale said.

The affection – _love_ , it could only have been _pure, unadulterated love_ – washed through him again. “Thank you,” he croaked.

“Whatever for?”

Crowley licked his lips and didn’t miss the way Aziraphale’s pupils dilated when he glanced down at them and shivered. Hunger coiled in Crowley’s belly, but he waited for Aziraphale to meet his gaze again. “Everything,” he said, then gave up control and pulled his angel down to him.

The end of winter came and as the storms declined, so did their fights. Aziraphale gifted the cabin to the nearby village that had supplied Crowley on his way up and the pair made their way from the Himalayas. By unspoken agreement they relied on human transportation to cross the continent, stopping briefly in Rome and Paris to reminisce. Crowley decided it was much better with a companion than on his own.

Rather than have a bus take them straight home or catch a cab, the pair walked the last few kilometers hand in hand. Crowley needed to ease back into the familiarity, and he figured Aziraphale must need to as well. They’d both been gone a long time by human standards.

Annie spotted them from the front garden and tore down the street with a cry, launching herself into Aziraphale’s arms. Taken by surprise, the angel stumbled back a step but embraced the young woman.

Nora called out to them as she and her husband came down the walk to join the hug. She scolded them for not calling ahead, and Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look. They’d thought about it, but Nora would have insisted on picking them up and they’d wanted the time to themselves.

The head Device-Pulsifer scrutinized Crowley. “Feeling better?”

Crowley nodded and dropped her gaze. He could still feel the accusation, the distrust. She still hadn’t forgiven him for hurting Aziraphale.

_“I’ll make sure you never see him again.”_

His attention was drawn back to the reunion when Annie yanked him into a hug. “I missed you too,” he murmured.

Nora invited them to dinner, which they accepted, and Crowley miracled wine to his hands. Someone somewhere would find their strictly guarded cellar short a few bottles. It was a familiar miracle, one that helped him feel like things were getting back to normal.

Aziraphale and Nora talked books as they walked, but that didn’t stop the angel from taking a bottle from Crowley and reclaiming his hand. Crowley flushed when Nora eyed them, but to his relief she didn’t comment.

The cottage smelled like home, even to Crowley. It smelled like _Aziraphale_ , and Aziraphale was his home now.

He stopped at the kitchen door and stared at the place he’d nearly killed his best friend. No evidence remained of the incident. There was not a speck of blood, the table was whole, and not even a dent marred the wall.

“Crowley?”

Crowley closed his eyes, willing the image to leave his mind. “I expected there to be a stain.”

But Aziraphale had fixed it, of course.

Even so, Crowley turned and tucked into Aziraphale’s comforting embrace with an apology. Aziraphale tried to sooth him, but Crowley swallowed. “If I’d taken any longer to wake up…” he dared not finish the thought.

“But that’s not what happened, and I’m alright now.”

“You still flinch when I get angry,” Crowley said, remembering the way Aziraphale had shivered in his bed until they fell asleep the last time the demon had come close to relapsing.

But now his angel just comforted him, murmuring assurances and rubbing his back before lifting his chin and kissing him sweetly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Crowley said as soon as he was able. He took a steadying breath. “We’ll be alright,” he said, and he finally believed it.

Aziraphale agreed, and hand in hand they went to get ready for dinner.

Crowley progressed steadily. Nora still didn’t trust him, but she slowly began to relax again. Aziraphale ensured their arguments – on the occasions they _did_ argue – were quieter, and Crowley suspected Nora had been interrogating him. Crowley never told the angel her threat; he didn’t want to risk interfering in their relationship.

Soon their disagreements were of a more domestic nature, and their bickering rarely turned into fights. Crowley’s relapses were rare.

The garden plants looked good, but they needed a reminder of who was boss. Crowley enjoyed watching Annie grow frustrated with his refusal to stop yelling at them. It became one of his favorite games. Aziraphale tried to intervein and convince Annie to let it go, but Crowley suspected she enjoyed the petty rivalry just as much as he did.

Time wore on and even though he still had vivid nightmares whenever he slept, Crowley’s torment in Hell faded to the back of his mind. Whenever it reared its head, Aziraphale was there to pick up the pieces and remind him it was done, the past, and he was never going back.

The demons never came looking again and the angels minded their business. They were finally free to love and be loved, and they were together without reservations.

When their first apple tree finally bore fruit, Crowley presented it to Aziraphale, and the angel’s eyes sparkled. “Are you tempting me, wily serpent?”

Crowley grinned.

“Temptation accomplished.”

Watching Aziraphale bite into the apple, Crowley realized that all his time in Hell, all the pain and fear and struggling that came after, all the work they’d had to do… all of it was worth it.

He’d gladly go through it all again if it meant he could be right here, right now, with Aziraphale, the being he’d loved since the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments give me life. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this chapter, please drop a comment! Comments sustain me. 
> 
> If you _didn't_ like this chapter, please leave me some constructive criticism so I can improve! 
> 
> If you think of any tags I may have missed or you think the rating should be different, please let me know!
> 
> Please come visit me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/flywolfwriting) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/heather_wolffe)!


End file.
